


The Wing

by Lepak, luminality



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: ACAB (even these fictional ones), Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, DE but The Office, Fluff, Gen, Harry gets a reality check, Humor, Jean and Trant being.......something, Mack and Chester being bros, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Canon, References to Drugs, Screenplay/Script Format, Tags May Change, four seasons and a movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepak/pseuds/Lepak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminality/pseuds/luminality
Summary: Cheerful piano music tinkles. A zoom-out shot of the old silk mill, its gigantic dome set against a bright blue sky. Motor carriages stuck in morning traffic at Main Street. A drive-by shot of “Welcome to Jamrock”, followed by a hallway sign in Precinct 41 with arrows for the A, B, and C-Wings.The title card sweeps in from the left: “THE WING”.---A documentary crew starts filming the everyday lives of the C-Wing to boost public perception of the RCM. This goes about as well as you'd expect it to.[AKA: Disco Elysium, but The Office.]
Comments: 19
Kudos: 47





	1. Meet the C-Wing

**Opening Montage**

Cheerful piano music tinkles. A zoom-out shot of the old silk mill, its gigantic dome set against a bright blue sky. Motor carriages stuck in morning traffic at Main Street. A drive-by shot of “Welcome to Jamrock”, followed by a hallway sign in Precinct 41 with arrows for the A, B, and C-Wings. Then, a series of clips showing the cast—

> HARRY DU BOIS _gives a pep talk to an unwilling audience._
> 
> JEAN-HERON VICQUEMARE _shouts down a phone receiver before slamming it down._
> 
> CHESTER MCLAINE _shreds a bright red autopsy form._
> 
> MACK ‘THE TORSO’ TORSON _glues his eyelids shut._
> 
> JUDIT MINOT _dutifully photocopies papers._
> 
> _And_ TRANT HEIDELSTAM _demonstrates stick-fighting to a squad of junior officers._

The title card sweeps in from the left: “ **THE WING** ”.

_Interior: Interview Room_

> HARRY DU BOIS (LIEUTENANT 2-YF, PRECINCT 41): I've been in the RCM for... how long was it again? _(He stares into space, lips moving like he’s having a conversation with himself.)_ Eighteen years?! Fuck, that's a long—

The PRODUCER coughs off-screen.

> HARRY: Oh, sorry. Eighteen years. The C-Wing was a mess before I came in. But me and my partner, Jean— _(He points to another office across from the interview room, smoke billowing out of it like a chimney.)_ We re-conceptualized it as a special, crime-fighting task force. It’s a tough job, so I try to inspire everyone the moment I step into the office.

_(Earlier Today) Interior: Precinct Floor_

The door to the C-Wing bursts open, camera zooming in on HARRY as he swaggers into the office wearing a FALN tracksuit, shades, and the froggy hat, blasting Sad FM at full volume from the boombox on his shoulder. 

> HARRY ( _voiceover_ ): I think I'm a _great_ leader. I really watch out for my colleagues. We have a mutual relationship of love and respect going on around here. It’s what sets us apart from the other wings.

_Interior: Interview Room_

> JUDIT MINOT (PATROL OFFICER, PRECINCT 41): The other wings say C-Wing is “dysfunctional”, but I don't think it's true. We have a lot of big personalities, true. But at the end of the day we all get along.
> 
> UNKNOWN VOICE ( _in the background, out of frame_ ): WHY THE FUCK IS MY OFFICE COVERED IN EGGS?! WAS IT YOU, SHITKID???
> 
> HARRY ( _in the background, out of frame, softer_ ): NO!
> 
> JUDIT ( _staring straight ahead_ ): We fight, sure, but all units do. It's just the nature of the job.
> 
> UNKNOWN VOICE: I'M GOING TO SHOVE THIS STAPLER GUN SO FAR UP YOUR ASS—
> 
> HARRY: FUCK, NO, NOT AGAIN.
> 
> UNKNOWN VOICE: THEY'LL HAVE TO GET THE CRANE OUT TO GET YOU DOWN, YOU FUCKING BARNYARD FUCK!
> 
> JUDIT ( _still staring straight ahead_ ): It's completely normal. ( _Screams of terror erupt behind her._ ) Excuse me, I have some paperwork to do.

She pushes herself away from the table. As she runs out of the room, MACK ‘THE TORSO’ TORSON and his partner CHESTER MCLAINE sneak in, arms full of empty egg cartons, snickering. 

_Interior: Precinct Floor_

Scene cuts back to HARRY walking through the precinct. He spots JUDIT walking towards him carrying a sheaf of folders. 

> HARRY: Oh, it’s Jude. I’ll just say hello. ( _He winks and shoots finger guns._ ) Hey, Jude! How's my best girl doing today?

JUDIT covers her face with the folders and walks faster.

> HARRY ( _shrugs at the camera_ ): Must be that time of the month. Gotta give wömen their space, you know? 

_Interior: Interview Room_

> MACK 'THE TORSO' TORSON (SERGEANT, PRECINCT 41): Mullen’s fucking nutso.
> 
> CHESTER MCLAINE (SATELLITE-OFFICER, PRECINCT 41): He talks to his tie.
> 
> MACK: And his shoes, horses, garbage—
> 
> CHESTER: I saw him take a half-empty bottle of booze out of the trash and drink it.
> 
> MACK: There's no coming back from that, man. 

_Interior: Precinct Floor_

HARRY’s standing outside JEAN’s office. The door is closed. The clacking of typewriter keys can be heard faintly through it. 

> HARRY: My partner-in- _h_ _ah_ -crime is Jean Vicquemare. That’s what everyone tells me, anyway. But even though I don’t remember much of it, Jean and I have a great partnership. We just get each other, you know? Let me demonstrate. ( _He flings the door open._ ) Hey, Vicky! Whaddya say we go out and spend some quality partner ti— 

He ducks. A brass nameplate narrowly misses his skull. 

> A VOICE: Augh!

A boom mic clatters to the floor, along with a stricken sound engineer, clutching his arm. HARRY quickly shuts the door.

> HARRY: Not a good time. I’ll try again later. ( _He winks at the camera and steps over the groaning sound engineer._ ) 

_Interior: Coffee Corner_

> JUDIT: Vic and Harry’s relationship is...battle-tested. They’ve been through a lot together, and they’ve solved plenty of cases that have stumped other officers. Like THE MURDER AT THE HOOKAH PARLOR— 

She cuts herself off and glances down at a pile of used coffee filters, oozing black liquid into the bin.

> JUDIT: Sorry about that. ( _She clears her throat._ ) Anyway, I’m confident that the two of them will be able to find a way to work through their differences. Because if they don’t...well. ( _She sighs._ ) I guess I’ll have to check if they have room in B-Wing for another patrol officer. 

_Interior: Precinct Floor_

Scene cuts back to HARRY, now approaching MACK and CHESTER’s desks. 

> HARRY: Hey, guys! What’s up?
> 
> MACK: Don’t come any closer, Mullen.
> 
> CHESTER: Yeah, we’re trying to work here.

HARRY eyes the three-tiered tower of paper cups that they’re building on CHESTER’s desk.

> HARRY: Wow. Won’t Jean get mad when he sees you guys slacking off?
> 
> MACK ( _adds another cup to the stack_ ): We’re doin’ this for a case, man.
> 
> CHESTER: Mack and I are brainstorming about a homicide, and we can’t think without using our hands. ( _He adds a cup to the tower, which wobbles slightly_.)
> 
> MACK ( _whispers_ ): Woah. That was close.
> 
> HARRY: I still don’t—don’t— ( _He squints his eyes and inhales sharply through his mouth, like he’s about to sneeze._ ) A—AH—
> 
> MACK: Don’t you fucking dare—
> 
> CHESTER: Quick, Mack! We gotta protect it!

MACK and CHESTER form a protective huddle around the tower of cups while glaring at HARRY.

> HARRY ( _sniffs_ ): Oh. Sorry. Guess I didn’t have to sneeze after all.

MACK and CHESTER breathe out identical sighs of relief and relax.

> CHESTER: Damn, Mullen. Almost gave me a fucking heart attack—
> 
> HARRY: ACHOOO!!!

The tower explodes in a shower of paper cups.

> MACK: ...fuck you, man. 
> 
> CHESTER: You suck.
> 
> MACK: Go away. No one likes you.

They bend down and start picking up the scattered cups while HARRY walks away, looking dejected. A blonde man in a crisp suit observes them in the background.

_Interior: Interview Room_

> JEAN VICQUEMARE (SATELLITE-OFFICER, PRECINCT 41): What do I do? I keep everything from going up in fucking flames.

Scene cuts to MACK and CHESTER, their desk still covered in coffee cups.

> MACK: So the suspect tried to burn the evidence using lighter fluid and matches?
> 
> CHESTER: Yup.
> 
> MACK ( _takes out a small metal canister labelled ‘LIGHTER FLUID’ and pours it over the cups_ ): Time to test the fuck out of that theory.

CHESTER strikes a match and is about to set it to the soaked cups, when he stops.

> CHESTER: Hey, Torso.
> 
> MACK: Yeah?
> 
> CHESTER: The boss is glaring at me right now, isn’t he?
> 
> MACK: Nah, man. He’s glaring at both of us.
> 
> CHESTER: Thought so. ( _He turns around._ ) Heeey, Boss—

JEAN plucks the lit match from CHESTER’s fingers and blows it out.

> JEAN: You have five seconds to start working before I kill you. Five—

MACK and CHESTER sweep the cups off their desk.

> JEAN: Four. Three. Two—

CHESTER picks up a case folder and starts pretending to read it. MACK does the same, only his case folder’s upside down. JEAN stops counting and glares at the two men.

> JEAN: I want this shit cleaned up by the end of the day. ( _He stalks back towards his office, kicking coffee cups out of his way._ ) 

_Interior: Interview Room_

> JEAN: I've been in the RCM since '43. Not a very long time compared to some of the fossils around here. ( _He lights a cigarette_.) I’m a Satellite Officer, which is the fancy title they give you when your partner’s got a higher rank than you do. I also run the wing, since—( _He shouts at the door._ ) THE GUY WHO'S SUPPOSED TO DO IT IS _TOO DRUNK_ TO _WIPE_ HIS OWN _ASS!_
> 
> HARRY ( _from outside the interview room_ ): I’ve quit, Vic! I swear!
> 
> JEAN: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that all before. ( _He turns back to the camera, scowling_.) Anyway, C-Wing’s the unit that’s supposed to handle all the “impossible” cases. The ones that the other wings are smart enough to stay away from. Sequence killers. Locked room murders. Ninety-year-old flashers. You know, the _crazy_ shit. 

He takes a drag from his cigarette with a far-away look in his eyes. 

> JEAN: We used to be the pride of the 41st. Officers from all over Revachol wanted to work with us, and we chose the best of the best. ( _He exhales smoke, staring into the past._ ) Then it all went to shit. Everyone left or transferred out, and now we’re down to me, greenhorn Minot, and three idiots with one brain cell between them. Oh, and Trant.
> 
> PRODUCER: Who’s Trant?

JEAN tastes his cigarette again and smiles slightly.

> JEAN: You’ll find out. 

_Interior: Precinct Floor_

A handsome blonde stands by a desk, which is neater and cleaner than all the other ones in the unit. A row of hardcover books is lined up on its far edge, against the wall. 

> TRANT HEIDELSTAM (SPECIAL CONSULTANT): Hello! I’m Trant Heidelstam, and I’ve been a civilian consultant to the C-Wing for the past two years. ( _He picks up a picture frame._ ) This is my son, Mikael. He turns seven this year, and he’s still very much in his wurm-loving stage. I don’t mind though—it’s important to allow children to explore their interests without curtailing their natural curiosity. 

He sets down the frame and places his hand on the books.

> TRANT: These are from my personal collection. You might recognize Lemery’s seminal text on criminal profiling, “The Harrowed Mind,” and Beaumont’s equally ground-breaking, but lesser known work, “Darkness Rising: A Peek into the Criminal Psyche.” I’ve tried lending these to my colleagues, but they’re more into the...ah, “practical” ( _He air-quotes._ ) side of police work. 

_(Two Days Ago) Interior: JEAN’s office_

TRANT pokes his head around the door. 

> TRANT: Hello, Vic! Have you read the book I lent you last week?
> 
> JEAN (looks up from his work): Hm? Oh, you mean this one? ( _He points to the heavy book on top of a mountain of papers_.) Haven’t gotten around to reading it yet. But would you mind if I kept it for another week? It’s a _great_ paperweight. 

The camera pans back to TRANT’s face. His smile seems a bit strained now. 

_Interior: Precinct Floor_

TRANT is sitting behind his desk, hands clasped in front of him. 

> TRANT: C-Wing’s been...unsettled since Harry’s return from medical leave. The Du Bois-Vicquemare partnership only really took a turn for worse this past winter, but it’s deteriorated even further since. It’s put everyone a little on edge. But that’s where I come in.

TRANT smiles brightly and continues with the enthusiastic tone of a professor speaking about his favorite topic.

> TRANT: While group dynamics isn’t my area of expertise, I do have some experience facilitating small groups through Ruckman’s four stages of group development. I am aware that Ruckman has fallen out of favour with behavioral psychologists of late, but his 'Stages' is still a valuable schematic for fostering communicative lines vis-a-vis hierarchical structures. It's not foolproof of course—

The camera begins to bob, as if the camera person were nodding off.

> TRANT: —he doesn't take into consideration the intersections of minority subjectivities for example, and in particular is sorely lacking in class analysis—but it was never meant to be paradigmatic after all. Now, the C-Wing is currently in the “storming” stage, which is when—

The camera slowly pans down. Trant clears his throat. The camera jolts back up.

> TRANT: Anyway, I’m hoping to facilitate a session with the C-Wing today to clear the air—a team caucus, so to speak. I’m sure that it’ll be a very fruitful conversation.

_Interior: Coffee corner_

JEAN is by the coffee maker, nursing his fifth cup of the day. MACK and CHESTER are behind him, trying to cram a trash bag full of coffee cups into a very small bin. 

> JEAN: Trant's all-in on "building ensemble" and "healthy communication". He gives us worksheets and asks us to write daily journals.
> 
> MACK: P*ssy shit, man.
> 
> CHESTER: Are you still mad we didn't catch you during the trust fall?
> 
> MACK: I fractured my tailbone!
> 
> CHESTER: You _bruised_ it, you big fucking baby.
> 
> JEAN: The journaling does help though. Trant and I—
> 
> MACK: I have the X-rays to prove it!
> 
> CHESTER: Those were from a dog.
> 
> JEAN: Will you two shut it for two fucking seconds?! ( _He turns back to camera._ ) Where was I? Oh yeah, team caucus. It should be good, as long as he doesn't pull out the stupid "talking rock" thing again. 

_Interior: A Large Meeting Room_

The C-Wing is seated in a small semi-circle. HARRY’s at the very edge of the crescent, clutching his tie and fidgeting uncomfortably. JEAN’s seated on the opposite end of the crescent, glaring at the floor with his legs splayed and arms crossed. JUDIT’s sitting up straight in her chair. MACK’s rocking his seat back and forth on its hind legs. CHESTER yawns. TRANT stands in the middle, raising something in the air.

> TRANT: This is the talking rock.

Everyone groans.

> CHESTER: That is _obviously_ a dolphin.
> 
> JEAN: Isn’t that Mikael’s?
> 
> HARRY: Did you steal it from your _son_?

The dolphin plushie squeaks as TRANT squeezes it. The camera zooms in, highlighting the stuffing poking out of several holes in its hide. One of its button eyes droops from a loose thread.

> TRANT: This is the talking dolphin—which is _on loan_ from Mikael’s toy cupboard. Before we begin, let’s review the ground rules—

CHESTER raises his hand.

> TRANT: Yes, Satellite Officer?
> 
> CHESTER: What’s the dolphin’s name?
> 
> JEAN: For god’s sake—
> 
> TRANT: Good question! Giving the dolphin a name might increase your affinity towards it, thereby improving your perception of this team-building exercise. What name would you like to give it?
> 
> CHESTER: Flipper!
> 
> MACK: Dick! ( _He sniggers_.)
> 
> JEAN: Bubbles. It’s called Bubbles.
> 
> TRANT: That _is_ its name, actually. How did you know that?
> 
> JEAN ( _shrugs_ ): Mik told me the last time we—

He stops when he notices everyone looking at him.

> JEAN: Can we please get this shitshow started already?
> 
> TRANT: Of course! As I was saying, we’ll go through a brief review of the ground rules first. I’ll pose a question to the group, and if you’re ready to share your answer, just raise your hand and I’ll pass Bubbles to you. Only the person who’s holding Bubbles ( _It squeaks again_.) will get to speak. Everyone else must listen to them until they are done saying their piece. 

MACK raises his hand.

> MACK: What happens when someone talks without Bubbles? ( _He looks at HARRY_.) 
> 
> CHESTER: Yeah. Can we kick them out? ( _He looks at HARRY too._ )
> 
> TRANT: Another excellent question. These rules are meant to maintain order during the session and to ensure that everyone gets a chance to speak and be heard. If someone speaks out of turn, I’ll be giving them three warnings—
> 
> JEAN: One.
> 
> TRANT: Khm. _One_ warning before they’ll be asked to leave the room.
> 
> JUDIT: What if they kick the door in and start shouting anyway? ( _She also looks at HARRY_.)
> 
> JEAN: Then I take the fire extinguisher and start spraying until they get the goddamned memo.
> 
> TRANT: It’s alright, Vic. I’m sure that everyone will be able to comply with this simple rule, so there won’t be any need to take such drastic measures. Am I right? ( _He looks around the semi-circle. His gaze lands on HARRY_.)
> 
> HARRY: Why’re you all looking at—

JEAN reaches for the fire extinguisher.

> HARRY: Yep. Not gonna talk without Bubbles. Got it. 
> 
> TRANT: Thank you, Ha—I mean, everyone. So let’s get the ball rolling shall we? ( _He starts pacing the front of the room like a professor, holding BUBBLES_.) The issue at hand concerns the dynamics within our unit. We’ve been through a particularly, shall we say, _challenging_ episode—

Everyone looks at HARRY from the corners of their eyes. He looks down and twiddles his thumbs.

> TRANT: And now that we’ve seen it through, I believe this is an excellent opportunity to identify opportunities for growth that have emerged from this trial. But before we do so, we should name our strengths as individuals and as a group. Would anyone like to start?

After a moment’s hesitation, JUDIT raises her hand. TRANT passes BUBBLES to her.

> JUDIT: I think one of our unit’s greatest strengths is our resilience. The past few months haven’t been easy, but we’re all still here. That takes a lot of strength.
> 
> JEAN: Or stupidity.
> 
> TRANT: Satellite Officer, may I remind you that you only get _one_ warning?

JEAN looks like he’s about to protest, but he shuts up and slumps in his chair like a sullen teenager.

> TRANT: Thank you, Jude. Who’d like to go next?
> 
> CHESTER ( _raises his hand_ ): Oh, oh!

JUDIT passes BUBBLES to him.

> CHESTER: I just want to thank Mack for being such a good bro. You always got my back, and we kick so much ass together! Couldn’t have asked for a better partner, man.
> 
> MACK: Awww, bro!
> 
> CHESTER: Bro!

They hug, squishing BUBBLES who lets out a prolonged squeak. Meanwhile, HARRY looks at JEAN, who ignores him.

> TRANT: Thank you, Sergeant! Expressing gratitude is a great way to enhance our personal well-being and to build camaraderie with our colleagues. Anyone else?

HARRY raises his hand. CHESTER narrows his eyes and hugs BUBBLES to his chest.

> TRANT: Come now, Chester. The Talking Dolphin is communal property. It would defeat the purpose of the exercise if we were to deprive someone of it.
> 
> CHESTER: The last time Mullen had the Talking Rock, he threw it at Mack!
> 
> MACK ( _holds onto Bubbles too_ ): Yeah! If my skull weren’t so tough, I’d be dead! 
> 
> TRANT: I’m sure that the lieutenant yefreitor won’t do such a thing. Right, Harry?

HARRY nods so fast his head becomes a blur.

> TRANT: Besides, I don’t see how Bubbles can be used to injure anyone—
> 
> MACK: What if he tries to _smother_ me?!

Suddenly, JEAN stands up, grabs BUBBLES from CHESTER, and thrusts it into HARRY’s hands.

> JEAN: Make it count, shitkid. _Or else._

He marches back to his seat.

> HARRY: Oh. Uh. Right. ( _He stands up and clears his throat_.) I just wanted to thank everyone for holding the fort while I was, uh, _indisposed_ —
> 
> MACK ( _coughs_ ): _WASTED!_
> 
> HARRY ( _glares at MACK_ ): —in Martinaise. I’ve gotten most of my memories back too, thanks to uh…( _He gestures towards TRANT_.) Sorry, what’s your name again?
> 
> TRANT: Trant Heidlestam. 
> 
> HARRY: Right! Trant gave me a reality lowdown on how things were around here before, so I’m sure we can get this unit back to tip-top shape in no time!

Everyone stares at him incredulously. After a few seconds, JEAN raises his hand.

> HARRY: Oh, here you go, Vicky. 

He tosses BUBBLES over to JEAN, who catches it easily.

> JEAN: What exactly did you tell the shitkid, Trant?

TRANT winces. He loosens his collar.

> TRANT: Well, I er…told the Lieutenant yefreitor about the um, difficulties that the unit was facing before his blackout.
> 
> JEAN: Did you tell him about the _other_ two times he drank himself to oblivion? About the drugs he stole from the evidence locker? The booze he'd hide in his desk, the toilets, the janitor’s closet, the goddamned _vents_?
> 
> HARRY: Hey, I—
> 
> JEAN: Shut up, shitkid. I have the fucking dolphin. ( _BUBBLES squeaks in his grip. He looks at TRANT again._ ) Did you tell him about how he’d disappear halfway through his shift and turn up the next morning reeking like a dead bum’s ass? Or how once he’d vanished for so long that Jude got worried, left her kids at her mother’s, and scoured every single shithole Pox bar looking for him? And when she _did_ find him, he told her to fuck off and threw a chair at her head?

HARRY looks at JUDIT, but she doesn’t meet his eyes.

> TRANT: I…( _He clears his throat._ ) I admit that I may have overlooked these details during our conversation. But I can assure you, Jean, Harry’s more than aware about how his past behavior has affected the unit.
> 
> JEAN: I can smell your bullshit from a hundred kilometers, Trant. ( _He glares at HARRY._ ) You don’t remember any of the shit I’ve just said, do you?

HARRY opens his mouth to answer, then closes it.

> JEAN ( _scoffs_ ): Thought so.
> 
> MACK: Hey, boss. Can I have the dolphin?

Still glaring at HARRY, JEAN passes Bubbles to MACK.

> MACK: Hate to break it to you, man. But you were a shitty boss. 
> 
> TRANT: Sergeant, I’m afraid we’re getting ahead of ourselves—
> 
> MACK: Look, Heidelstam. I know you’re trying to be all nice and huggy-huggy, but I’m just gonna do everyone a favor and cut to the chase. ( _He addresses HARRY._ ) You ran us into the ground. Everyone left ‘cause they couldn’t handle your drunk screaming about how we weren’t shit next to you. Man, the only reason why there’s still a C-Wing is because Vic didn’t wanna give up on you. 

JEAN says nothing. He looks at the floor and crosses his arms.

> MACK: Sure, you burned through cases like your ass was on fire. But we all got burnt too. You didn’t care about us—
> 
> HARRY: That’s not true! 
> 
> CHESTER: Dolphin ain’t with you, bud!
> 
> HARRY: You don’t fucking have it either!
> 
> TRANT: All right, everyone. Calm down—
> 
> MACK: All that mattered to you was solving cases and getting shitfaced. Didn’t matter how tired we got, or many people we lost along the way. You just kept pushing and pushing us until we _broke_ —
> 
> HARRY: NO!

HARRY leaps out of his seat and tries to wrestle BUBBLES away from MACK.

> MACK: What the fuck?! Get off me, asshole!
> 
> HARRY: Just give me the dolphin, goddamnit!

HARRY yanks BUBBLES towards him. MACK yanks it back. Everyone tries to break them apart.

> JEAN: Shitkid, let go of the fucking dolphin!
> 
> CHESTER: Come on, Mack! Pull!

There’s a loud ripping sound. Stunned, they all look at the torn halves of BUBBLES that are in MACK and HARRY’s hands.

> HARRY: I—I can fix it.

JEAN tugs half of the dolphin out of MACK’s grip, then holds out his hand and cautiously moves towards HARRY, like he’s approaching a wild animal.

> JEAN: Hand me the dolphin.
> 
> HARRY: No, I can! I can fix it!
> 
> JEAN: Can you sew?
> 
> HARRY: No, but—
> 
> JEAN: Then you _can't_ fix it. ( _He places hand on what’s left of BUBBLES._ ) Let go, Harry.

HARRY swallows. The dolphin trembles in his grip, but he releases it.

> HARRY (turns to TRANT): I’m sorry. Tell your kid I’m...I’m sorry. ( _He turns to the rest of the unit._ ) I’m sorry, everyone. I guess I’m...I really am a fuck up. 

He stumbles out of the room. Everyone stares after him in silence.

_Exterior: Stables_

HARRY lights a cigarette and exhales grey smoke. He stares at his feet and nudges a bit of hay with his toe.

> HARRY: I didn’t know. I...I thought they’d be happy to have me back. To see me alive... But they’re not. And it’s all my fucking fault for being such a dick. ( _He takes a drag and shakes his head._ ) Jean was right. I don’t remember anything that he said. I don’t remember hiding booze in all of those places. I don’t remember those black-outs. I don’t—

He slams his fist against the stable wall. Panicked neighs fill the air.

> HARRY: I DON’T FUCKING REMEMBER _ANYTHING._

He wipes his face with his hand. His eyes are downcast; his face, pale and drawn.

> HARRY: I don’t...I don’t know how to make up for it. How do you make up for something that you don’t even remember doing? I didn’t do all those things. But I did. The other me. The past me. The fucked up me—( _He stops and starts muttering to himself._ ) What do you mean I’m still fucked up? _You’re_ fucked up! I’d be fine if you weren’t screaming at me all the fucking time…

A horse whuffles in the next stall. It leans its head over the stall dividers and nudges HARRY’s shoulder with its nose.

> HARRY: Huh? Oh. H-Hey there... ( _He pats the horse’s mane and smiles when its ears flick._ ) Well, at least you like me.

The horse chomps on his hand.

> HARRY: FU—

_Interior: Communications Desk_

HARRY tiptoes back into the C-Wing, peering over cubicle dividers and walls to make sure no one spots him. He scurries towards the Communications Desk and the haze of cigarette smoke wafting out of it.

> HARRY ( _whispers_ ): Oldboy! Hey, Oldboy!
> 
> JULES “OLDBOY” PIDIEU (COMMUNICATIONS OFFICER, PRECINCT 41): Standby. ( _He looks up from the microphone and frowns at HARRY, pulling a blue headphone from his ear_.) Detective Du Bois? What—

Shushing him, HARRY darts through the door, closing it behind him.

> HARRY: Could you patch me through to Precinct 57?
> 
> JULES: I’m currently on-call with Lieutenant McCoy.
> 
> HARRY: Please? It’s urgent.

JULES watches Harry pick his nails. Then, he sighs. 

> JULES: Could you give me five minutes, sir? Lieutenant McCoy is requesting for—

Static bursts through his headphones, resolving into a man shouting.

> JOHN ‘THE ARCHETYPE’ MCCOY (LIEUTENANT 3-YF, PRECINCT 41): Where the FUCK is my information, Oldboy?! If these Mazda cocksuckers get away because you’re too busy jacking it to photos of your mother, I’m gonna shove your radio down your cockho—
> 
> HARRY: Lemme talk to him. ( _He takes the radio equipment from Pideu and presses a headphone to his ear._ ) Hello? McCoy? Yeah, yeah, fuck you too. Head to the dog-run at Pinnacle and Advent and look under the yellow bench. What do you mean—of _course_ I’m fucking sure, that’s where they _always_ hide it you stupid bastard, the city told me. Thank me later, or not, fuck off. ( _He hands the microphone and headphones back._ ) He hung up. Could you patch me through to the 57th now?
> 
> JULES: Of course, sir. ( _His fingers fly over the panel of dials and knobs in front of him._ ) Anyone in particular or just their comms?
> 
> HARRY: Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi.
> 
> JULES ( _speaking into the microphone_ ): 57 receiving? 41, over. 10-25 Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. 10-4, over.

After a few moments, JULES removes his headphones, stands up, and offers them to HARRY.

> JULES: All yours, sir. Better keep it short, or Satellite Officer Vicquemare will have my head.
> 
> HARRY: Thanks, JULES. I owe you one.
> 
> JULES: You don’t.

JULES slips out of the office while HARRY takes the headphones and sits down. He takes a deep breath before putting them on.

> HARRY: Kim? Kim, can you hear me?

A crackle of static. Then, a voice filters through the shortwave.

> KIM KITSURAGI (LIEUTENANT, PRECINCT 57): Yes, Detective. I can hear you. 
> 
> HARRY ( _grabs the microphone_ ): KIM, OH MY GOD, I MISS YOU SO MUCH—
> 
> KIM: Detective—
> 
> HARRY: IT’S HORRIBLE HERE, EVERYONE HATES ME—
> 
> KIM: De—
> 
> HARRY: THEY ALL THINK I’M A GIANT FUCK-UP WHO JUST BREAKS THINGS AND THEY’RE RIGHT—
> 
> KIM: HARRY!

HARRY shuts up. Silence crackles through the radio.

> HARRY (quietly): Nobody likes me, Kim.
> 
> KIM: That isn’t true, detective.
> 
> HARRY: It is! Everyone on the unit thinks I’m a fuck up! I even tried petting Pryce's horse, and it bit me! Animals don't like me, Kim! Animals! What kind of monster pisses off animals!
> 
> KIM: Well, are you?
> 
> HARRY: Am I what?
> 
> KIM: A fuck up.
> 
> HARRY: ...yeah. Yeah, I am. I...I screamed at everyone, Kim. Threw shit at them. Stole drugs from the evidence locker. Hid booze in the vents—
> 
> KIM: How did you even get up there?
> 
> HARRY: I don’t know. Maybe I teleported. Anyway, those were just the things that I learnt about today. I don’t remember _anything_ before Martinaise. Who knows what other horrible shit I’ve done? 

Silence. The radio crackles. 

> KIM: So you can’t change what you’ve done, but you _can_ change how you act from now on. 
> 
> HARRY: I—I’m not sure. What if I’m just broken?
> 
> KIM: Do you _want_ to change?
> 
> HARRY: Of course!
> 
> KIM: Then start from there. It’ll take work, but if you’re serious about it, it’ll show in your actions, and your colleagues will eventually come round.
> 
> HARRY: I can de-fuck up myself?
> 
> KIM: You can. I believe you will.

HARRY runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He nods. 

> HARRY: Thanks, Kim. That...That means a lot.
> 
> KIM: You’re welcome. ( _More crackling as he shifts in his seat._ ) So, are you working a case?
> 
> HARRY: Pryce says I'm on desk duty until I prove I'm “mentally stable enough to not balls everything up”. I'm dying of boredom.
> 
> KIM: I'm dying of boredom, too. 57 won't put me on any cases while my transfer's pending.
> 
> HARRY: What? Why'd they do that?
> 
> KIM: Bureaucracy.
> 
> HARRY: What are you doing now then?
> 
> KIM: I'm on patrol at the harbour. Watching the ships unload their containers.
> 
> HARRY: Will they let you operate the big cranes?
> 
> KIM: I don't have the right licenses for that, detective.
> 
> HARRY: Just show them your badge, say there's a cargo emergency and you're the only one who can solve it.
> 
> KIM: I don't have the _panache_ to pull that off. You'd have to do it for me.

HARRY smiles at the microphone.

> HARRY: Wish you were here, Kim.

Silence. A siren trills through the radio. 

> KIM: Two weeks, Harry. I'll see you soon.
> 
> HARRY: Yeah. See you soon.

HARRY takes off the headphones. He’s still smiling.

_Interior: Interview Room_

> HARRY: So...I was wrong. I wasn’t a great leader. I didn’t watch out for my colleagues. They don’t love or respect me. They hate me. And I...I don’t blame them for that. ( _He pauses._ ) But I want to be a better leader—no, a better _person_. I don’t know how I’ll do that, or how long it’ll take. I don’t even know if my colleagues will ever forgive me. But...but I still have to try. ( _He looks at the camera with determination._ ) Because I don’t want to be that animal anymore.

_ Interior: Precinct Floor _

JEAN sits at his desk. The two halves of BUBBLES are on his lap.

> JEAN: Do I think the shitkid’s going to change? ( _He scoffs and holds up the torn dolphin._ ) What do you fucking think?

_ Exterior: Back of the Precinct's Garages _

> MACK: Nope.
> 
> CHESTER: Nuh-uh.
> 
> MACK: He’s said that before, man. ( _He mimics HARRY._ ) “I’m gonna change! I’m gonna go clean, Vicky! I promise!” But he just got _worse_ , not better. 
> 
> CHESTER: Yeah. Mack and I aren’t gonna fall for that act anymore. We’re way smarter than that.
> 
> MACK: Can we go now? Still got an arson to solve. ( _He pulls out matches and lighter fluid._ )

_ Interior: Precinct Floor _

> TRANT (leans back in his chair): I admit that the session turned out, ah, “rougher” than expected. But I’d like to believe that it opened up new avenues for dialogue and introspection for all of us. It might take a while for things to “be okay,” ( _he air quotes_ ) but every team has to go through a period of conflict before they can reach their full potential.
> 
> PRODUCER: What about your son’s dolphin?
> 
> TRANT: Oh. Well. ( _He sighs._ ) It seems that I have a lot of explaining to do when I get home. 

_ Interior: Coffee Corner _

> JUDIT: Harry said that? ( _She stays quiet for a moment._ ) I want to believe him. I really, really do. But at this point, it’s just—( _Suddenly, she frowns._ ) No. That wouldn’t be fair. Everyone deserves a second chance. Maybe even a fourth. If he says he wants to change, then I’m not going to doubt him.
> 
> PRODUCER: But didn’t he throw a chair at you before?
> 
> JUDIT ( _winces_ ): Yes. But he wasn’t in the right mind back then. I’m sure it won’t happen again. ( _She pauses._ ) I hope.

**Closing Montage**

> TRANT HEIDELSTAM _flips through a toy catalogue and chews on the back of a pencil, deep in thought._
> 
> JUDIT MINOT _carries two steaming mugs of coffee and sets one down on a messy desk, next to a signed photo of Guillaume Le Million._
> 
> TORSON & MCLAINE _stand before a pile of flaming paper cups, taking notes._
> 
> JEAN VICQUEMARE _licks a thread and draws it through the eye of a needle. The two halves of_ BUBBLES _lie on his lap._
> 
> HARRY DU BOIS _puts his boombox and froggy visor into the bottom shelf of his filing cabinet and closes it._
> 
> _And_ A MAN IN AN ORANGE JACKET _watches the cranes at the harbour, and the containers soaring overhead. He lifts his cigarette to his lips._

**Credits roll**


	2. Goddamned Partners

**Cold Open**

_Exterior: Main Street_

JEAN tours the camera crew along the Jamrock beat.

> JEAN: Rush hour at Main Street’s always a pain in the ass. Gotta watch out for pickpockets—

A woman shrieks. JEAN turns around and sees a man running away with a purse. He sighs.

> JEAN: Excuse me for a second.

He takes a bottle from a nearby trash can and hurls it at the pickpocket. The bottle sails through the air, lands on the man’s head, and knocks him out cold.

> JEAN ( _dusts off his hands_ ): Now. Where were we?

**Opening Montage**

Cheerful piano music tinkles. A zoom-out shot of the old silk mill, its gigantic dome set against a bright blue sky. Motor carriages stuck in morning traffic at Main Street. A drive-by shot of “Welcome to Jamrock”, followed by a hallway sign in Precinct 41 with arrows for the A, B, and C-Wings. Then, a series of clips showing the cast—

> HARRY _bribes a horse with carrots._
> 
> JUDIT _punches a punching bag._
> 
> CHESTER _balances a tower of paper cups on his head and_ MACK _is on a chair, carefully lowering one more cup._
> 
> JEAN _throws a crumpled ball of paper across his office; it lands perfectly in the bin._

The title card appears over the bin: “ **The WING** ”

_Interior: Interview Room_

> HARRY: The Captain’s placed me on desk duty until further notice. I’m bored out of my mind, but it’s a great chance to show everyone how serious I am about turning a new leaf. We’re overworked and understaffed, so someone's bound to need my help!

_Interior: Precinct Floor_

JUDIT is typing at her desk. HARRY sidles up to her.

> HARRY: Morning, Jude! How’s our new girl doing?
> 
> JUDIT ( _glances at the camera_ ): I’ve been here for three months, sir.
> 
> HARRY: Oh. Uh. Really? Could’ve sworn you just arrived yesterday!

He laughs. JUDIT doesn’t.

> HARRY ( _coughs_ ): Anyway, I was wondering if you needed help with anything. I’m free all day, so I could help you photocopy stuff. Or type reports. Or fetch you coffee. Or—
> 
> JUDIT: It’s okay. I’ve got things covered.
> 
> HARRY: You sure? I could get you a sandwich from the caf—
> 
> JUDIT: Thanks, Harry. But maybe later? I really have to finish this report.
> 
> HARRY: ...okay. I guess I’ll just...check if anyone else needs my help then.

He walks away, shoulders slumped. JUDIT bites her lip.

> JUDIT: Harry, wait.
> 
> HARRY stops and looks back at her.
> 
> JUDIT: Mack and Chester are a bit behind on their reports. I’m sure they’d appreciate some help.
> 
> HARRY ( _smiles_ ): Great! I’ll just take these—( _He takes an armful of folders from the desk across from Judit’s._ ) Boy, they’re gonna be so surprised when they see those reports! Thanks a lot, Jude!
> 
> JUDIT: Actually, those aren’t—

But it’s too late. HARRY’s already running off with the folders.

> JUDIT: ...those folders aren’t theirs.

The camera zooms in on a sheet taped to the desk. It reads: FOR SHREDDING.

_Interior: Communications Desk_

JULES PIDIEU approaches his cubicle with a styrofoam cup of coffee. He opens the door, only to find HARRY sitting at his desk and wearing his headphones.

> JULES: Detective? What are you—
> 
> HARRY: Morning, Jules! Figured I’d step in for you while you were out. ( _The radio beeps_.) Hold on a sec. ( _He turns on the microphone_.) 10-2. Detective Du Bois speaking. Hi, Chester! Yeah, it’s me! I’m just filling in for Jules. He’s out getting coffee. Over.
> 
> JULES: I’m right here, sir.
> 
> HARRY ( _into the microphone_ ): What’s that? Of course I asked him! I wouldn’t just barge in here and take over someone’s spot without asking them.

He winks at JULES, who looks like he badly needs a cigarette right now.

> HARRY: So what do you need? What do you mean you don’t want to tell me? Hey, I’ll let you know that I’ve memorized most of the 10-codes for the past week, so don’t you—( _He frowns_.) Hello? Hello? Huh. Looks like he got cut off.

JULES nods. One of his hands is tucked behind his back.

> JULES: That happens, sir. I’ll have a look at the panel. Mind if I…?
> 
> HARRY: Go ahead! ( _He removes the headphones_.) I should probably finish transcribing those reports for Mack and Chester, actually. You’re welcome, Oldboy!

He runs off, leaving behind a very confused-looking JULES.

> JULES: Did I thank him? ( _He looks at the camera._ ) I didn’t. Right?

Shaking his head, he takes out his hand from behind his back and plugs in the communications panel again.

_Interior: Lazareth’s clinic_

NIX GOTTLIEB is hunched over a patient report on his desk. Someone knocks at the door.

> NIX: The doctor’s out. Go away.

> HARRY ( _muffled, outside the door_ ): How can you be out when you’re right there???

NIX unwraps a caramel and pops it into his mouth.

> NIX: The doctor’s out of _patience_ , Detective. Now scram before I give you a free tonsillectomy—

The door bursts open. Two men rush in, carrying an unconscious officer between them.

> YOUNG OFFICER: Doc! Billie got shot! You—you gotta help him!!!

NIX stands up. He winces as his back cracks.

> NIX: Alright, alright. Put him on gurney. I’ll be right there.

The men carry their injured friend to the back of the clinic. HARRY pops in.

> HARRY: Sounds like an emergency, Doc! Need any help?
> 
> NIX ( _snaps on a pair of gloves_ ): No.
> 
> HARRY: Are you sure? That kid’s in really bad shape—
> 
> NIX: You want to help?! Fine. ( _He points to a box of surgical gloves on his desk_.) Put those on. Follow me.

He stomps towards the injured officer. HARRY scuttles after him, struggling to put on a too-small pair of gloves. One of the men is pressing a bloody blanket against Billie’s shoulder while the other one watches in horrified silence.

> NIX: You! ( _He points at the shell-shocked officer_.) Fill that basin with water! You! ( _He addresses the man with the blanket_.) Take that thing off! I need to see the wound.

The man removes the blanket. The camera focuses on NIX’s grim face. Behind him, HARRY turns pale.

> HARRY: Oh. Oh wow. That’s— ( _His cheeks bulge._ ) ‘Scuse me, I gotta—

He rushes off. Violent retching sounds are heard in the background.

> NIX ( _rolls his eyes_ ): Useless idiot.

_Interior: Jean’s Office_

JEAN sits at his desk, surrounded by mountains of folders. A lit cigarette dangles from his fingers.

> JEAN: Not much going on today, folks. Mack and Chester are on patrol, and the shitkid’s chained to his desk until the birth of the next Innocence. Trant’s out too. So unless you want to watch me scale Mt. Paperwork—

His phone rings. Jean stubs out his cigarette before answering.

> JEAN: _What_?...Oh. Good morning, Captain. ( _He glances at the camera._ ) What can I do for you?...shit. I mean. Yes, sir. I’m listening. ( _He’s silent for a moment._ ) I’m sorry, sir. I should’ve kept a closer eye on him...come again? ( _He scowls._ ) Captain, with all due respect, I don’t see how that—( _He shuts up. Closes his eyes and massages his temples._ ) Yes, sir. Understood.

He hangs up, and thumps his forehead against his desk. Mt. Paperwork tips over and buries him in an avalanche of folders.

> JEAN ( _voice muffled_ ): I hate my life.

_Exterior: Central Jamrock_

JUDIT is running down the street. The camera follows her, pointed at her back.

> JUDIT: Torson and Mclaine called for backup! ( _She turns right into a sidestreet, and spots_ _an unoccupied Coupris 40 parked by a streetlight, one front wheel mounting the curb._ ) There! That’s their car. God, I hope I’m not too late—
> 
> CHESTER ( _pops out from behind the Coupris_ ): Shh!

MACK peeks out next to him and silently beckons her over, then ducks back down

> JUDIT ( _crouches next to them and whispers_ ): Sorry for taking so long. What's the emergency?
> 
> CHESTER: Could you put this in the trash container over there? ( _He points at a bin at the other end of the block._ )
> 
> JUDIT: Did you call me all the way here to throw away your kebab wrappers?
> 
> MACK: Man, no, we're testing out a theory.
> 
> CHESTER: C'mon Jude. Help us out.
> 
> JUDIT: Fine.

She snatches the paper bag, walks over to the trash container and drops it in. Mack and Chester frantically motion her back.

> JUDIT ( _crouching behind the Coupris again_ ): What was about?
> 
> MACK: Wait for it.

A portly middle-aged man waddles out of a shopfront. His bright yellow shirt is emblazoned with the phrase ‘GOGODONUTS’, and he wears a tiny white paper hat which is far too small for his head. He looks into the trash container, then sticks his hand in, pulls out the paper bag and opens it. Finding nothing, he crumples it, tosses it back, and retreats into the shop.

> CHESTER: That’s the third one this hour.
> 
> MACK: He’s totally waiting for something, man. That tip was right.
> 
> JUDIT: What tip?
> 
> CHESTER: We got word that a business here is a front for a criminal enterprise.
> 
> JUDIT: GoGoDonuts? That can’t be right, I know Mr. Gonzalo, he’s straight as an arrow.
> 
> MACK: Anyone can be on the take, man.
> 
> CHESTER: Yeah, and we got the tip from one of his closest associates.

A tall man in a beige trenchcoat strides past them. As he passes the trash container, he dumps a paper bag into it and keeps walking. The same middle-aged man leaves his store to check the bag, and this time he keeps it, holding it to himself as he heads back inside.

> MACK: Shit, that was the handover. Go, go, _go_!

_Interior: Taxi_

JEAN and HARRY are sitting in the backseat of a taxi. JEAN’s posture is tense: arms and legs crossed, body jammed against the door as if HARRY were some infectious disease that he doesn’t want to catch. On the other side of the seat, HARRY twiddles his thumbs, then clears his throat.

> HARRY: Thanks for letting me patrol with you, Jean. I was dying of boredom back there—
> 
> JEAN: Shut it. This isn’t a patrol. This is me taking you on a fucking walk so you don’t set the precinct on fire.
> 
> HARRY: I just wanted to—
> 
> JEAN: Wanted to what? Entertain yourself? Lend a helping hand to your coworkers? Well, congratulations, Harry. You’ve managed to disrupt every single department in the span of—( _He checks his watch.)_ two hours. You want to be helpful? Then shut the fuck up.

HARRY shuts up. The taxi pulls to a stop in front of a newspaper stand. HARRY scrambles for his wallet, but JEAN beats him to it. They both get out of the cab.

> JEAN ( _pulls on his gloves)_ : Listen up, shitkid. If we’re gonna do this, you need to follow three simple rules. ( _He raises a finger_.) One. Don’t touch anything. ( _Another finger._ ) Two. Don’t say anything.
> 
> HARRY: What?
> 
> JEAN ( _arcs an eyebrow)_ : Ah?
> 
> HARRY: But—
> 
> JEAN ( _arcs his eyebrow higher)_ : _Aaah?_

HARRY zips his lips. JEAN raises a third finger.

> JEAN: Third. Don’t wander off. If you _do_ decide to chase after a plastic bag blowing in the wind or whatever the fuck, I’m telling the captain that you are _not_ a cop but a fucking toddler who doesn’t deserve a badge. Is that clear?

HARRY nods, his face miserable.

> JEAN: Good. Let’s go.

He heads down the street. HARRY trails after him like a kicked puppy.

_Interior: GOGODONUTS (Central Jamrock)_

> MACK ( _kicks the door down_ ): THIS IS A RAID!
> 
> CHESTER: HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!
> 
> JUDIT ( _coming through the door_ ): Afternoon, Mr. Gonzalo. Madam Reyes. ( _She nods at an old woman sitting at a folding table, her wizened hands raised in the air.)_
> 
> MADAM REYES (FORMER OWNER, GOGODONUTS): Judit…? What's going on?
> 
> JUDIT: We're just—
> 
> CHESTER: WHO'S PAYING YOU, LARDO?
> 
> MACK: THE MADRE? ANOTHER MAZDA FUCK?!
> 
> GONZALO REYES (OWNER, GOGODONUTS): I—
> 
> CHESTER: SHUT IT!
> 
> MACK: WE DIDN'T ASK YOU!
> 
> JUDIT: But you did—
> 
> MACK: YOU'RE UNDER INVESTIGATION!
> 
> MADAM REYES: Officers, wait! ( _Her rheumy eyes water._ ) What's going on? What have we done?
> 
> CHESTER: We have received _reliable information_ that this store is a front for criminal activity!
> 
> GONZALO: I would nev—
> 
> MACK: Oh so you _would_ , huh?
> 
> CHESTER: That's a confession! Book him, Mack!
> 
> MADAM REYES ( _sobbing_ ): Judit, _please_!

JUDIT steps between MACK and GONZALO, palms raised.

> JUDIT: I think we're being too hasty—
> 
> CHESTER: JUDIT'S COMPRISED!
> 
> MACK: I said so, man! Anyone can be on the take!
> 
> JUDIT ( _calmly_ ): Look. Let's check the bag first, and if there _is_ something in there, _then_ we can book him. We're wasting everyone's time if we don't have a chargeable offence.
> 
> CHESTER ( _scowling_ ): That's—
> 
> MACK: A good point.
> 
> CHESTER: Yeah. Yeah, a good point. Put the bag on the floor and slide it over, lardo.
> 
> MACK: No funny stuff.

GONZALO follows their instructions. The bag rustles as it's pushed across the floor. CHESTER stoops down, still glaring at GONZALO, and tips its contents out. Something heavy and glassy _tinks_ onto the grimy floorboards.

> CHESTER: What the fuck.
> 
> MACK: This is fucking sick.

The camera pans down to reveal a half-eaten carton of soggy fries and an empty bottle of Fizzy Whizzy™ soda.

> CHESTER: It's _garbage._
> 
> GONZALO: I'm collecting the bottle labels for a competition. Mail in five hundred and I stand to win a motor carriage.
> 
> JUDIT ( _turning to CHESTER and MACK_ ): See? It was nothing. No arrest needed.
> 
> MACK: Man, yeah. That was a close one.
> 
> CHESTER: Vic would've killed us.

The old lady mouths 'Thank you' at JUDIT. She nods once and smiles.

> GONZALO: But you're right, officers. ( _He lowers his voice_.) There _is_ a conspiracy on this street.
> 
> CHESTER: You'd better tell us everything.
> 
> MACK: Write it down, Jude. ( _He holds out a red, dog-eared notebook.)_
> 
> JUDIT: I’m not your secretary.
> 
> MACK: C’mon, Jude. Please? Chester’s handwriting is dogshit, and I can’t spell for crap.

JUDIT flips through their notebook. Their notes really are terrible—most of it is full of crude drawings of stick men in gun fights. She sighs and clicks her pen.

_Exterior: Temple Avenue_

Lunch hour at Temple Avenue. Motor carriages trundle down the road and pedestrians crowd the sidewalks. JEAN and HARRY stand at the corner of an intersection.

> JEAN ( _to the camera)_ : Patrols are the bread and butter of the RCM. And just like bread and butter, you get sick of them pretty quickly. Everyone has to do them—not just P.O.’s like Jude. Hell, even _Pryce_ patrols. That’s just how things are, ‘specially if your precinct’s in charge of the whole goddamned Jamrock.

He plucks a cigarette from his packet. An open lighter is thrust towards him, held by HARRY. JEAN frowns, but leans into the flame anyway.

> JEAN: Thanks. ( _He blows out a cloud of smoke._ ) Now, as I was saying—

HARRY taps him on the shoulder. JEAN looks at the ledger shoved under his nose, open to a page with the words “YOURE WELCOME VIC :) :) :)” scribbled on it in large capital letters.

> JEAN: What the fuck.
> 
> HARRY ( _via the ledger)_ : RULE NO 1 REMEMBER?”
> 
> JEAN: You’re taking this way too seriously, shitkid.
> 
> HARRY ( _still via ledger)_ : I DONT WANT TO MESS UP OUR FIRSTEVER PATROL
> 
> JEAN: Our first—( _He sighs_.) Never mind. ( _He looks at the camera again, jaw tense.)_ Like I said. Everyone patrols, except for the lazareth and the comm guys. We do it in pairs. That way, when shit hits the fan—which is 98% of the time—you have someone watching your back.

As JEAN continues to speak, HARRY glances over his shoulder and stiffens. He frantically taps JEAN on the shoulder, but JEAN shrugs him off.

> JEAN: Stop fucking interrupting. ( _He takes a drag._ ) Anyway—

HARRY throws his hands up in the air. Then, without any warning, he turns around and runs away.

> JEAN: The last time an officer went out to patrol alone, they—( _He frowns at the camera.)_ What?

The cameraman points at HARRY’s rapidly receding form. JEAN turns around—the cigarette falls from his slack mouth.

> JEAN: For FUCK’S SAKE! ( _He chases after him_.)

_Interior: DODODONUTS (Central Jamrock)_

> MACK ( _kicks down the door)_ : YOU LYING FUCK.
> 
> CHESTER: You’re a BESMERTIE STOOGE.

A man who looks exactly like GONZALO raises his hands in the air. Patches of sweat grow under his arms and stain his blue shirt.

> JUDIT (coming through the door): Afternoon, Mr. Donzalo. We had some questions for you—
> 
> CHESTER: We know what you’re doing, you dirty son-of-a-bitch!
> 
> MACK: These donuts? ( _He reaches over the counter into the display case and gouges a layer of magenta icing_.) One-hundred-percent _cocaine royale._
> 
> CHESTER ( _slams his hands on the counter_ ): This shop’s a front!
> 
> MACK: You’re smuggling _drugs._
> 
> CHESTER: ( _He shoves MACK’s finger under DONZALO’s nose._ ) DoDoDonuts?! More like DODO DRUG MULE!
> 
> DONZALO REYES (OWNER, DODODONUTS): Officers… ( _His tiny paper hat slips down his forehead._ ) I have no idea what you mean.

Off to the side, JUDIT prods a donut. It’s rock hard and speckled with dead flies. She makes a note.

> MACK: SHUT IT, FATSO!
> 
> CHESTER: We’re _wise_ to your fuckery!
> 
> JUDIT ( _pointing at the deep fat fryer, black and gelatinous as a tar pit_ ): When was the last time you changed the oil?
> 
> DONZALO: The morning.
> 
> JUDIT: _Which_ morning?
> 
> DONZALO: Last month?
> 
> CHESTER: Enough stalling!
> 
> MACK ( _wiping his hand on DONZALO’s shirt_ ): This is small-time shit!
> 
> CHESTER: Where d’you keep the nose candy?!
> 
> DONZALO: Officers, please! I am but a humble donut purveyor, framed by my former business partner!
> 
> MACK and CHESTER ( _simultaneously_ ): BULLCRAP!
> 
> DONZALO ( _sweating_ ): It’s true! I swear on my mother’s sainted lungs! Inspect his floorboards! He’s storing _kilos_ of cocaine under his shop floor!
> 
> JUDIT ( _skeptically_ ): That’s—
> 
> CHESTER: Devious.
> 
> MACK: The motherfucker.
> 
> CHESTER: It was under our noses—
> 
> MACK: —this whole time.
> 
> CHESTER ( _already walking out the door_ ): Don’t go anywhere, fatso.
> 
> MACK ( _following him_ ): And if we find out you’ve been lying…
> 
> CHESTER ( _pokes his head back through the doorway_ ): Your ass is _custard._
> 
> MACK ( _pushing his partner out the door_ ): Fuckin’ _crème brûlée._

In the entranceway, JUDIT prods a stack of mouldering newspapers with her boot. Two fat roaches scurry out of it.

> JUDIT: When was your last health inspection?
> 
> DONZALO: At the beginning of the decade.
> 
> JUDIT: _This_ decade?
> 
> DONZALO: ...maybe.
> 
> JUDIT: Right. ( _She heads out, writing in the notebook_.)

_Exterior: Corner of Temple Street and Woodsberry Avenue_

The camera jostles as the documentary crew tries to keep up with JEAN. They turn a corner and see HARRY running after a man carrying a hot pink purse.

> JEAN: Shit shit shit—

He looks around and spots an old man selling apples on the sidewalk. He grabs a really big apple.

> APPLE MAN (STREET VENDOR, LEGAL): Hey! What do you think you’re—
> 
> JEAN: I’ll pay for it later! ( _He runs off with the apple._ )
> 
> APPLE MAN ( _to the gawking crowd_ ): Someone call the police!
> 
> JEAN ( _looking back and shouting_ ): I _am_ the police!

Ahead of him, HARRY pursues his quarry into an alleyway. JEAN sprints after them. When he enters the alley, the man is halfway up a wire fence, and Harry has just pulled himself onto it.

> JEAN: SHITKID!

HARRY turns. JEAN’s already assumed the paperweight-throwing position. The man has just reached the top of the fence and he swings a leg over it.

> JEAN: DUCK!!!

HARRY ducks. JEAN hurls the apple. It soars in the air then smashes into the man’s head, and he shrieks and topples to the ground. HARRY’s jaw drops; JEAN runs past him, easily scales the fence, drops down beside the pickpocket.

> JEAN ( _to Harry)_ : What’re you staring for?!

HARRY fumbles for his ledger.

> JEAN ( _rolls his eyes)_ : Oh, for—just talk!
> 
> HARRY: JEAN THAT WAS SO COOL! ( _He grabs the links of the wire fence and shoves his face close to JEAN’s._ ) HOW DID YOU DO THAT?
> 
> JEAN: Practice. ( _He tucks the purse into his jacket, picks up the apple, and nudges the fallen man with the toe of his shoe.)_ Rise and shine, motherfucker.

Groaning, the pickpocket sits up. Tufts of ginger hair peek out of the bandages wrapped around his head. He blinks blearily up at HARRY on the other side of the fence. Then he spots JEAN and screams.

_Interior: GOGODONUTS (Central Jamrock)_

The door to ‘GoGoDonuts’ slams against the wall.

> MACK: THIS IS A RAID! AGAIN!
> 
> CHESTER: THOUGHT YOU COULD TRICK US?!
> 
> GONZALO: What—
> 
> MADAM REYES: Dios mío not again—
> 
> CHESTER: Sorry lady, but lardo over here is about to be nailed for _criminal obstruction._
> 
> GONZALO: What are you talking about?
> 
> MACK ( _grabbing a fistful of powdered donuts from the counter_ ): Do you think we’re stupid?!
> 
> CHESTER: You tried to double-cross us!
> 
> MACK: We have the evidence _right here_. ( _He snorts a donut, nose coming away white, and he frowns._ ) Huh. Why’s it sweet?
> 
> GONZALO: It’s sugar!
> 
> CHESTER: He cut it with sugar?
> 
> MACK and CHESTER share a look, then turn to glare at GONZALO.
> 
> CHESTER: Are you trying to hook _kids?!_
> 
> MACK: You sick son-of-a-bitch.
> 
> CHESTER: We’re giving you one last chance to come in nicely. ( _He steps forward, getting right into GONZALO’s face._ ) Where. Is. The. Cocaine.
> 
> GONZALO: For the last time, this is a drug-free premises—
> 
> CHESTER: CROWBAR!

MACK slams a crowbar into the floorboards by GONZALO’s feet, tearing out a section of wood.

> MADAM REYES ( _clutching her heart)_ : What are you doing?!
> 
> MACK: This is police work, madame! ( _Another floorboard cracks free._ )
> 
> GONZALO: This is insane! We are humble donut purveyors!
> 
> MADAM REYES: Where’s Judit? She’ll help us. ( _A bell chimes as the door is pushed open, and she turns towards it._ ) Judit!
> 
> DONZALO: You dirty ratfucking fuck.
> 
> GONZALO: No, _you’re_ the dirty ratfucking fuck. ( _He steps out from behind the counter_.) Get the fuck out of my shop.
> 
> DONZALO: Your shop? _Your shop?!_ ( _He advances_.) You stole it from _me_ you sack of cobra shit!
> 
> GONZALO: Because you were _destroying_ it!
> 
> CHESTER ( _whispering to MACK_ ): Quick, while they’re distracted. ( _They start tearing up the floorboards._ )
> 
> MADAM REYES: Boys, please. No fighting—
> 
> GONZALO: Stay out of this, Ma.
> 
> DONZALO: Don’t tell her what to do!
> 
> GONZALO: Or what? You’ll _abandon_ her again?
> 
> DONZALO ( _turning a bright, furious red_ ): I did my time in Reunion. All of it. Six men to a cell. One toilet and a window the size of a postage stamp between us. I called her every week, you smug, self-righteous [BLEEP]! ( _He draws his fist back._ )

The bell chimes. JUDIT steps through the doorway, shards of the afternoon sun scattering across the floor.

> JUDIT: Hello again, everyone. Oh, Mr. Donzalo. It’s good you can join us. I was hoping to have a few words with you, actually.
> 
> GONZALO ( _pointing at his brother_ ): _He_ framed _me_! He was trying to get me out of the picture so that he could get the shop!
> 
> JUDIT ( _flips open her notebook_ ): Interesting. Was that why you accused him of smuggling drugs for the besmerties?
> 
> MADAM REYES ( _turning to GONZALO_ ): Is that true?
> 
> GONZALO: I—yeah. Yeah, it is, Ma.
> 
> DONZALO: The golden boy’s a _hypocrite!_
> 
> JUDIT: Hold on, Mr. Donzalo. I spotted... ( _She licks her index finger and flicks through several pages_ ) eleven severe health code violations in your donut store, which will set you back thousands of reál in separate fines. 
> 
> GONZALO ( _shaking his head, face twisted in contempt_ ): You haven’t changed. Your hygiene standards are still _disgusting._
> 
> JUDIT: You’re not off the hook either, Mr. Gonzalo. You dug out a paper bag from a trash container and carried it into your store. That’s a violation of the health code too, I’m afraid. 

The two men stare at JUDIT, mouths agape.

> JUDIT: I was hoping we could sit down and talk things over. Unless you’d prefer station call forms?

GONZALO and DONZALO shake their heads. Their mother looks between them, her lined face trembling like she’s about to cry.

> JUDIT: Good. So just to make things clear. ( _She lists her points on her fingers._ ) Neither DoDoDonuts or GoGoDonuts are fronts for crime syndicates. No drugs are being smuggled. And there’s no cocaine—

A loud _CRACK_ rings out behind the display counter, much louder than the others. The camera pans to CHESTER, grinning wildly and lifting a rectangular package—wrapped in layers of silver tape and plastic—above his head like a trophy.

> CHESTER: MONEYSHOT!
> 
> JUDIT: ...under the floorboards?

A chair screeches against the floor.

> MADAM REYES: It’s my cocaine!!!

_Exterior: Alleyway (Temple Street)_

> PICKPOCKET: NOT YOU AGAIN!
> 
> HARRY ( _to Jean_ ): You know this guy?
> 
> JEAN: Yeah, we play bingo together every Saturday. Along with every fucking thief in the city.
> 
> HARRY: Really?
> 
> JEAN: No.
> 
> PICKPOCKET: I needed ten stitches after you hit me with that bottle, pig! The docs shaved half my head!

Recognition flickers in JEAN’s face.

> JEAN: Well, well. Look what the shitkid dragged in. ( _He crouches down and picks up both the apple and the purse_.) Should’ve thrown a brick instead of an apple. 
> 
> HARRY: So you _do_ play bingo together.
> 
> JEAN: No! I booked him last week for stealing another purse. What’s your name again? Ron Valron?
> 
> SEAN MCSEAN (PICKPOCKET): It’s Sean McSean, asshole.
> 
> JEAN: Well, fuck you too. ( _He bites into the apple._ ) Let’s haul him back to the mill.
> 
> HARRY: Wait, what? Isn’t this a station-call?
> 
> JEAN: Multiple offenders like Monsieur McSean here don’t get station call slips. They get three years in Reunion. Two, if they behave nicely.
> 
> SEAN MCSEAN ( _His face goes pale_.): Officers, I can’t...I can’t go to jail—
> 
> JEAN: Sure you can. It’s a great place. Free food, free drinks, free cholera. An all-expense-paid vacation, courtesy of Moralist International.
> 
> SEAN MCSEAN: No! My kids, they’ll...they’ll starve without me! Look—

He reaches into his jacket pocket. JEAN drops the apple and whips out his gun.

> JEAN ( _quietly_ ): Keep your hands where we can see them, McSean.
> 
> SEAN freezes, his eyes nailed to JEAN’s gun.
> 
> HARRY: Keep your gun, Vic.
> 
> JEAN: Don’t be naive, Harry—
> 
> HARRY ( _gripping the fence_ ): He’s _unarmed_.

JEAN glances at Harry and then into the camera. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He slowly lowers the gun and returns it to his holster, still glowering at SEAN.

> HARRY ( _to McSean_ ): What were you going to show us?

Hands trembling, SEAN reaches into his pocket and takes out a folded piece of photo paper. 

> SEAN: Th-these are my kids. ( _He unfolds the photograph and shows it to HARRY and the camera_.) Rosette’s turnin’ ten next month. Darius...well, he’s five, but he’s small for his age. Docs say it’s ‘cause he don’t get to eat much. And this here’s lil’ Ennie. He’s just one. Bright kid, though. Takes after his Ma, not his deadbeat dad. 
> 
> HARRY: They look like great kids. Don’t they, Vic?

JEAN stays silent. 

> SEAN: My wife’s pregnant with our fourth. ( _He wrings his hands._ ) I got laid off two months ago. Used to work at a donut shop, but the boss went nutso and accused me of spyin’ for the competition. 
> 
> HARRY: So you started stealing. 

SEAN nods, his head bowed. 

> SEAN: I told Fanny I found a new job as an office janitor in Couron. She...she makes sandwiches for me to bring to work. And the kids see me off every morning. ( _His voice cracks. He wipes his eyes roughly._ ) I can’t tell ‘em what I do. I _want_ to work. But I don’t talk pretty or have the right clothes or certificates. So I gotta do this to put food on the table.
> 
> JEAN: Why didn’t you say so when I booked you?
> 
> SEAN ( _glares at him_ ): Because I had a goddamned concussion!
> 
> HARRY: Okay, McSean. I get your situation now. Maybe—wait. ( _His eyes light up._ ) Yeah. Yeah! 
> 
> SEAN: Who’s he talkin’ to?
> 
> JEAN: Dolores fucking Dei. ( _He sighs._ ) He does this sometimes. Give him a minute. 
> 
> HARRY ( _mumbling to himself_ ): That’ll work…( _addressing_ SEAN.) You need a job, right? 
> 
> SEAN: Uh. Yes?
> 
> HARRY: Go to the Whirling-in-Rags in Martinaise. Find Titus Hardie. Tall guy, cap, built like a rugby player. Tell him you’re looking for work. And that Coppo sent you. 
> 
> SEAN: Coppo? Who’s Coppo?
> 
> HARRY: He’ll know. Just...trust me on this, okay? ( _He writes a station call slip and passes it through the fence._ ) Then let me know how it goes when you come to the station.
> 
> SEAN: A—alright. ( _He takes the slip._ )
> 
> JEAN: You’re lucky my partner’s heart is as soft as his head. 
> 
> SEAN: Yeah. Uhm. ( _He grips the slip of paper._ ) Th-thanks, officers. I’m never gonna touch another purse again, I promise!
> 
> JEAN: Words are cheap, McSean. See you at the precinct. Or else.
> 
> HARRY: Don’t forget! Martinaise! Titus Hardie! Coppo!!!

SEAN jogs off, station slip in hand. HARRY and JEAN watch him leave.

> HARRY: Hey, Jean.
> 
> JEAN: Yeah?
> 
> HARRY: You...uh. Called me your partner. 
> 
> JEAN: Guess I did. ( _He turns around and starts walking away_.) Come on. I need to pay for that goddamned apple before the vendor calls the cops. 
> 
> HARRY ( _frowns_ ): But we’re the cops. Vic? Vic, wait up!

_Interior: GOGODONUTS (Central Jamrock)_

Everyone stares flabbergasted at the old woman. CHESTER recovers first. 

> CHESTER: CONFESSION! Book her, Mack!
> 
> JUDIT: Let her finish.
> 
> MACK: Man, you _are_ on the take—
> 
> JUDIT: Mack, _please_. ( _She turns to Madam Reyes_.) What were you about to say, ma’am?
> 
> MADAM REYES ( _voice trembling_ ): it’s my cocaine. My boys have nothing to do with it.
> 
> DONZALO ( _going to her_ ): Ma, what happened?
> 
> GONZALO ( _staggers back against the counter_ ): Ma...why?
> 
> MADAM REYES: I took a loan from a gang. To keep the businesses going.
> 
> GONZALO: You said the money was Gramma’s.
> 
> DONZALO: It was your inheritance!
> 
> MADAM REYES: That’s all gone now. Times are tough, and you two have been working so _hard_ …( _She dabs her eyes with her handkerchief_.) When I couldn’t make the payments, we worked out a deal. They’d use this shop to store their goods until I could pay them again.
> 
> GONZALO: So the piping work that you said people were coming in to do—
> 
> MADAM REYES (nods): I’m sorry, Gugu.
> 
> GONZALO: It’s okay, Ma. ( _He hugs her_.)
> 
> DONZALO ( _squeezes her shoulder_ ): Yeah. Don’t worry, Ma. We’ll fix this. ( _He looks at JUDIT._ ) Arrest me.
> 
> GONZALO: No, arrest me! 
> 
> MADAM REYES: I can’t let you both go to jail! (She turns back to JUDIT.) Arrest me!
> 
> CHESTER: YOU’RE ALL UNDER A—( _He catches Judit’s glare. He coughs._ ) Under a lot of pressure.
> 
> JUDIT: Madam Reyes, you’re obviously being extorted. But maybe we can work something out. ( _She taps her notebook_.) You have information that could really help us in our investigations. That’s much more valuable than any amount of cocaine.
> 
> DONZALO: You want us to snitch on the gang who’s bullying our Mama?
> 
> JUDIT: Yes. 
> 
> DONZALO ( _cracks his knuckles_ ): Deal.
> 
> GONZALO ( _nodding_ ): Yeah, fuck them. Putting cocaine in _my_ store.
> 
> MADAM REYES ( _teary-eyed_ ): I’m so sorry.
> 
> DONZALO: It’s okay, Ma. You did it because you didn’t have no choice.
> 
> GONZALO: Me and Dudu will watch each other’s backs. 
> 
> JUDIT: Thank you. We’ll do our best. Won’t we? ( _She looks at Mack and Chester._ )
> 
> CHESTER: I dunno, man...this is an awful lotta coke.
> 
> DONZALO: We’ll give you lifetime’s supply of donuts. 
> 
> GONZALO: Redeemable at _one_ bag a day.
> 
> CHESTER: Four bags.
> 
> GONZALO: One and free small coffees.
> 
> MACK ( _cracking his knuckles_ ): Three and _extra-large_ coffees.

While the men negotiate terms, JUDIT walks over to MADAM REYES.

> JUDIT: I’m sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Reyes. We’ll get these guys. I promise.
> 
> MADAM REYES: Thank you, Judit. If you weren’t here...( _She crosses herself_.)
> 
> JUDIT ( _smiling_ ): My pleasure, ma’am. Before we go, could you tell me the name of the gang? I’ll try to dig up some info about them back at the precinct.
> 
> MADAM REYES: Of course. It’s…( _She leans closer to Judit, her eyes fearful_.) the Nuestro Padre gang.
> 
> CHESTER ( _shakes GONZALO’s hand_ ): Nice doing business with you, Mr. Donzalo!
> 
> GONZALO: I’m Gonzalo. 
> 
> CHESTER: Right on, Mr. G! Mack, you got the goods?
> 
> MACK ( _lifts two sacks of donuts and a jumbo cup of coffee_ ): Hell yeah! Got us some of those chocolate ones with the sprinkles on top too!
> 
> CHESTER: Thanks, bro. Come on, Jude! Let’s—( _He sees JUDIT’s face, then frowns_.) Jude? Jude, you okay?

The camera pans over to JUDIT. Her face is pale. She doesn’t seem to hear CHESTER at all.

_Exterior: Boogie Street_

HARRY stands in front of a shawarma stall. The vendor hands him two shawarmas, which he pays for. He talks to the camera as he walks away. 

> HARRY: Jean and I are having a post-patrol snack. I’m treating him, of course. He paid for the cab, and I completely forgot about him and the six years that we spent as partners. So I owe him around...( _His lips move as he counts._ ) Thirty shawarmas, at least.

They walk along the bridge. JEAN is leaning against the railing, looking out at the Esperance while smoking a cigarette. 

> HARRY ( _to the camera_ ): There he is. ( _He takes a deep breath and puts on his game face_.) Okay, Harrier. Let’s do this.

He sidles up to JEAN, the Expression firmly welded on his face like a shield.

> HARRY: Here you go, Vic! No onions, extra chili. Just like you asked.

JEAN flicks his cigarette to the ground and eyes the shawarma warily. 

> JEAN: You didn’t get the Marvellous Wrap, did you?
> 
> HARRY: Nope. What’s with the Marvellous Wrap?
> 
> JEAN: Nothing. ( _He takes the shawarma and pokes it, as if expecting it to squirm in his hands_. _Then he nods and takes a bite._ ) Good job, shitkid. Probably won’t get food poisoning from this. ( _He swallows_.) Probably.

HARRY joins him on the railing. They spend a few moments in silence, gazing at the river and eating their shawarmas.

> HARRY: Jean?
> 
> JEAN: If you say you’re sorry, I’m going to chuck you into the fucking water.
> 
> HARRY: How’d you know what I was gonna say?
> 
> JEAN: Because you’ve been fidgeting with your goddamned shawarma instead of eating it like a normal person. 
> 
> HARRY: Oh. Right. ( _He stops fidgeting with his shawarma.)_ But yeah. I’m sorry. For running off during our patrol. 
> 
> JEAN: You ran off ‘cause you saw Sean grabbing that purse, right?
> 
> HARRY: I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to break rule number one...

JEAN studies HARRY for a moment. Then, he looks away. 

> JEAN: The Harrier I knew wouldn’t have given a fuck about those rules.
> 
> HARRY: The Harrier—? Oh. _Him_. I mean. Me. I mean—
> 
> JEAN: He would’ve laughed in my face. Said he was king shit of cop-ville and _he_ made the rules. Then he’d bolt like a horse with ginger stuck up its ass and I’d have to run after him to make sure he didn’t get himself killed. Would’ve kept that purse we got from McSean too. For “safekeeping.” ( _He air-quotes_.) 
> 
> HARRY: That doesn’t sound so bad—
> 
> JEAN: He’d use the cash to buy booze and pills. 
> 
> HARRY: Oh. He...uh. I sound like an awful guy.
> 
> JEAN ( _shrugs_ ): You had your moments. Usually when you were sober, which was practically never. ( _He gives HARRY a sidelong glance_.) You haven’t drunk at all today, have you? 
> 
> HARRY: Nope, not a drop! Cross my lungs and hope to die!

JEAN narrows his eyes. HARRY draws a giant X over his chest and holds up his right hand. 

> JEAN: Swear on whatever the fuck you want. These sober streaks never last. You always break them. ( _He looks HARRY in the eye._ ) Always.
> 
> HARRY (looking down to his uneaten shawarma): That Harry’s dead.
> 
> JEAN (sighing): Yeah. ( _He crumples his empty wrapper and stuffs it into a pocket._ ) I know.
> 
> HARRY: I mean it. ( _He looks at JEAN. His expression is grim but determined_.) I’m going for counselling and I’ve got prescribed medication. I’m in recovery. You can’t just shit on me like this.
> 
> JEAN: I’m a skeptic and a cynic. So shoot me.
> 
> HARRY: I’m _never_ going back to the bottle.
> 
> JEAN ( _folds his arms_ ): You’ve said that before, you know. Lots of times.
> 
> HARRY: It’s alright. You have every right not to believe me. But I’m gonna do it. I’ll prove you wrong.

JEAN doesn’t reply. He turns away and watches the river, dirty foam eddying on its banks. Then, he takes out a fresh cigarette and lights up.

> JEAN: Remember what I told McSean earlier?
> 
> HARRY: Uh. “Maybe I should’ve thrown a brick instead?”
> 
> JEAN: No. 
> 
> HARRY: “Well, fuck you too?”
> 
> JEAN: No! I told him, “Words are cheap.” ( _He exhales a jet of smoke_.) Words are cheap, Harry. You want to prove me wrong? Go ahead. But I won't believe it 'till I see it. 

> HARRY: I won’t let you down, Vic.

JEAN shuts his eyes and sighs deeply, exhaling through his nose.

> JEAN: Too late, shitkid.

_Interior: Interview Room (Precinct 41)_

> JUDIT: The Nuestro Padre killed my partner. Detective Joseph Mills. Or I guess I should say ex-partner.
> 
> We answered a call in Villalobos. Minor disturbance, some kids had set a car on fire. Routine stuff really. Then it went bad. Really, really bad. ( _She picks at the skin around her fingernails._ ) The thing is—and I don’t want to speak ill of the dead—but Joe was...difficult. He hated being saddled with me, a rookie cop straight out of the academy. Fresh meat. Said that if it weren’t for him, every dealer or gang member or pimp would eat me alive. I hated working with him too. ( _She stills her hands._ ) But he was right.
> 
> When everything went bad he fought them off so I could get away. And I did. I ran, and ran, and ran, and didn’t know where I was running to. Didn’t look back when I heard the gunshot. ( _She closes her eyes_.) I don’t know how but I ran into another patrol and they called for backup, but it was all too late.
> 
> I got out with a broken arm. Joe got a bullet to the back of his head. With his own gun. ( _She takes a shaky breath._ ) He was a bastard. But he saved me. I get to go home to my kids everyday because of what he did. And I’m grateful. And I hate him for it.

Silence in the interview room. JUDIT opens her eyes. She looks tired and sad, but her eyes are dry.

> JUDIT: Please excuse me. I have a lot of paperwork to clear. ( _She stands and unclips her lapel mic._ )

_Interior: Taxi_

The interior of another taxi. JEAN stares out the window, fingers laced over his crossed knees, lost in thought. HARRY fidgets with his broken seat belt, occasionally glancing over at JEAN. Jamrock’s buildings zip by. A police siren wails faintly in the distance.

> HARRY: Martinaise was rough, huh?
> 
> JEAN: Understatement of the fucking era.
> 
> HARRY: Yeah. But. You know that morning when you and Jude came to check up on me?
> 
> JEAN: The worst day of my fucking life? What about it.
> 
> HARRY: I couldn't remember my own name, but I knew that you felt familiar, somehow. And that was nice, you know? ( _He smiles when Jean turns to look at him_.) You were something that made sense, when nothing did. I just didn't realise at the time.

JEAN says nothing. He stares at HARRY, his jaw working. The taxi slows as it pulls into a parking lot.

> HARRY: I know I'm not entitled to that again, given all the shit I've pulled on you and the wing. I just...wanted to thank you. For everything.
> 
> JEAN: Don’t do it for me. 
> 
> HARRY: Huh?
> 
> JEAN: Get better for yourself.
> 
> TAXI DRIVER (TAXI DRIVER): Your fare’s—
> 
> JEAN: Two fucking seconds. ( _He turns back to HARRY_.) This is how it’s gonna go. Either you recover or you don’t. And all I’m gonna do is watch. Because I can’t be responsible for it, or you. Not again.
> 
> HARRY: Okay.

JEAN takes out his wallet. HARRY stops him.

> HARRY: I’ll get it. I owe you like...fifty shawarmas.
> 
> JEAN: Five hundred. At least.
> 
> HARRY: One a day for the rest of your life.
> 
> JEAN: You’re definitely gonna give me food poisoning.
> 
> HARRY: Nah. ( _Something behind Jean catches his eye, beyond the window_.) You’ll be functionally immortal by the second week.

Despite himself, JEAN smiles. He unbuckles his seatbelt.

> JEAN: As much as I hate to say it...I'm glad you're back, partner. Don't blow it—

_Slam_! HARRY’s thrown himself out of the taxi and he’s running towards the station and a second film crew, huddled in the shadow of the great dome.

_Exterior: Precinct 41_

A man in an orange bomber jacket stands in front of the station’s doors, holding a small cardboard box under one arm.

> MAN: Have you been authorised to film here?
> 
> PRODUCER: Yes, we have permission from Captain Pryce.
> 
> MAN: And what are you filming?
> 
> PRODUCER: We’re filming a docuseries about Precinct 41. Could you introduce yourself?
> 
> MAN ( _shifting the box under his arm_ ): I don’t—
> 
> HARRY: KIM!

The camera pans to show HARRY sprinting over the bridge and towards the crew.

> HARRY: KIM!!!
> 
> KIM KITSURAGI (LIEUTENANT, FORMERLY PRECINCT 57): Detective?

HARRY skids to a stop. Breathing hard, chest heaving, he stares at the other man. Speechless.  
  
One of KIM’s eyebrows quirks. He raises a gloved hand above his head.

HARRY slaps it, then sobs and pulls KIM into a hug.

_Interior: Taxi_

JEAN watches out of the passenger window. His shoulders slump. He sags back in his seat.

**Closing Montage**

> KIM KITSURAGI unpacks his notebooks, smiling slightly as HARRY cracks a joke.
> 
> JUDIT sits at her desk, which is covered in old case files. She rubs her left arm absently.
> 
> CHESTER and MACK eat donuts in the front seat of their Coupris. They pass the extra-large cup of coffee between themselves.
> 
> JEAN stands in front of a Frittte, eyes downcast, a stuffed dolphin tucked under his arm. A motor carriage stops at the curb. He gets in. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, throw us a kudos or comment! (or a TV deal NETFLIX WE KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS)


End file.
